


Maybe Angels

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Angel intervention, F/M, Izzy is a supportive surrogate sister, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers, episode 3.22
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-12
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:57:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18795271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: New beginnings of old loves.  New beginnings of old lives.





	Maybe Angels

**Author's Note:**

> I always prefer hopeful endings.
> 
> * * *

“You can see me?” It was silly, but they were the first words to come to mind. The first words he had ever said to her, repeated yet again.

It was not the first time he had seen her. Far from it. He wasn’t a stalker, not by far, at least within his own mind, but the description was perhaps borderline if others were to be asked. He just wanted, just needed, to know she was safe. 

It started small. He knew where she would be and took advantage of that. She was a Nephilim with no memory of the fact. She was the daughter of one of the Shadow World’s greatest enemies. Sister of one who had killed hundreds if not more. A target. A prize. A love.

With Alec in Alicante more often than not, he had sensed only that Jace’s sorrow was lessened. That he still mourned, but that he still completed his task, his job, his duty. Izzy undoubtedly told their brother that she kept him busy. Research during the day, patrols during the night.

Izzy was his greatest ally.

Oddly, Simon wasn’t far behind.

Friends didn’t abandon friends. Simon couldn’t be seen lest he risk having to wipe the memory of someone who had that happen far too many times. But he could watch, advise, care. Between the three of them, they made sure a certain redhead had everything she needed. Almost.

A place to stay, classes to take, shows to put on, all paid for by a trust fund that she hadn’t known existed. A trust fund that really hadn’t until recently, really. A little rerouting of Morgenstern and Fairchild funds, maybe with a tiny bit of Herondale and/or Lightwood as well. Alec had known about that part, and Jace was fairly certain that Magnus contributed more than a single shiny penny as well. A lot more if the wards around the loft and studio were to be believed.

As for Jace himself? He watched. From afar. From closer than he should. He knew more about color theory and mixing his own pigments than he ever thought he would and had even tried his hand at it more than once, not that he would ever have anywhere near her talent, at least in his own eyes. He also read. A lot. Clary would paint and he would read and it was almost like old times except she had no idea he was there. Well, that, and he never read quite the works he was currently obsessed with back then.

Raziel was not the only angel - this they already knew and not just by Ithuriel’s blood coursing through certain veins. He created them, yes, but it turned out he either had a little help, or different types were created by different types. You didn’t exactly bust out an entire warrior race without approval or oversight.

Raziel was powerful, all the more so for the strength of belief of the Shadowhunters over the centuries. They prayed to him, told his tales, taught them to their children. The One Wish was held over their heads as proof of his love. With that gone, the core belief still remained, but the underlying belief that he’d be there for them began to fade, at least a little bit.

Perhaps that’s why Jace was able to get his hands on the books and scrolls and even stone tablets that spoke of other angels and their input to his kind. 

Perhaps that’s why they answered when he dared to call out to them.

Turned out some of them were a little miffed at being left out of the legends. Not that angels got miffed, they used far fancier words, but the underlying meaning was there. It also turned out more than one saw his deletion of the only means any of them had to talk to what they saw as their children for literal centuries as less than acceptable. The runes were the language of the angels. Protections and gifts that they gave their children. Like all languages, theirs evolved and grew and yet their children learned only the same ones again and again just as they learned the same stories again and again versus the new tales or even the more colorful variations of the myths.

It had not just been Raziel that sent Clary images of runes when she needed them. It also hadn’t been only Ithuriel. Azrael, Eremiel, Jequn, and more shared their knowledge with her just as they lended strength to the seraph blades when called upon. When she fell silent, they grew curious.

Some research and rituals and maybe a summoning or two later, and Jace had a plan. 

It started small. Any time he saw her, so pretty much daily, he activated his recall rune. The memory of his time with her, even if she didn’t know he was there, was etched in his own mind. The fact that he tended to activate it sans stele, which had proven to be able to activate runes on others in the past, was something he didn’t exactly mention to others, save for some certain winged blessings that he had encountered.

He honestly didn’t think it would do anything. While, at one time, Clary had that rune etched upon her, she no longer did so. 

And then her art began to change.

Sketches in notebooks of places she shouldn’t know. Abstracts pieces that, when fitted together for presentation formed the shape of runes she once held on her own skin. It was when she damn near drew the citadel of Alicante in flames, winged beasts above it, that he finally believed there might be a chance.

She still seemed oblivious to it all, thought it was her own imagination, perhaps ignited by the memory of a world she and her best friend had created so long ago, but he knew coincidences could only go so far before something else was at play.

He went to her show. Despite the glamour he wore, he hung back so as to not give in to the near overwhelming temptation to touch her, to speak to her, to probably get arrested as a crazy man babbling nonsense at her. He was close enough to spot a werewolf, two seelies, and a vampire that looked at her curiously, saw him, and nodded in understanding. He was also close enough to overhear her compliment a fellow student on a decently intricate tattoo and muse on just what she would want if she were ever brave enough to get one of her own.

The student left and she pulled out her ever present notepad, the tiny one that fit in her pocket with nub of an old 7H pencil. She got that look in her eyes, the one where she was nearly displaced in a world of her own, and her hand moved across the page with barely a thought. When she blinked herself back to reality, she glanced down at her creation with a shrug. The page was angled just right for him to catch a glimpse of it before she snapped it closed and tucked it away. The destiny rune flowed into the eidetic memory rune just like it had on the scroll he had seen just that morning.

He dared to take the chance. He dared to take that one extra step forward that caught her attention. He dared to risk the fury of the angel with the knowledge that a dozen more had led him to this very moment.

He dared to meet his love again. 

She met him back.


End file.
